


the heat

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, references to and oblique discussion of canon child abuse (comics and show)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: John deserves to smoke an entire pack in one go for this discussion, but he resists the urge.“The problem, Chas, is that you’re right.”





	the heat

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: like the tag says, this deals with john and chas as adults who were abused as children. mostly it's about chas and the consequences of having queenie as a mother (i disregarded the wilder parts of his origin in the comics, though). if you have any questions, feel free to leave a comment here or on tumblr (lordheron)

Zed is lying in bed, staring up at the darkness where the ceiling is, when her phone vibrates. She considers ignoring it; it’s just a text. An emergency would mean a call, and John is at the mill house with her, on the mend after a demon rearranged some things that shouldn’t have been rearranged, so the likelihood of it being important is next to zero.

She knows she won’t be sleeping tonight, though, so she reaches over and grabs her phone.

_Hi Zed. This is Renee. I need you to tell John that Chas is flying back tonight. Queenie came by._

Zed blinks at the screen for a moment, struggling to understand any of the message until the name clicks into place. Renee. Chas’ ex-wife.

Who doesn’t like John.

Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, Zed elects not to question the weird not-quite-request and instead goes looking for John.

She finds him staring into the mirror that’s out of time. There’s no one in it, but that isn’t stopping him from looking.

“How drunk are you?” Zed asks conversationally.

“I am tragically sober,” John says, twisting his neck to squint up at her. “Why? You need something?”

Zed shakes her head. “Renee does.”

John’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Renee, eh? What could she possibly want from me?”

“I don’t know. She just told me to tell you that Chas is on his way back and somebody called Queenie stopped by.”

Over the months she’s lived at the mill house, Zed has gotten well acquainted with John and the complicated faces he makes. It hasn’t been difficult; John has the subtlety of a shovel. He only hides his emotions when he’s trying to play you.

The change in his expression is one Zed has seen before, and the curse he spits isn’t new. Nor is the way he springs to his feet, movements sharp with his usual electric energy.

“Looks like you’ve got the house to yourself, luv,” he says. Then he’s rocking up onto his feet and walking around her, clearly intending to leave without any explanation.

“That’s it?” Zed asks, jogging after him. “I get a text in the middle of the night, then wait around while you run off?”

John nods. “That’s the short of it, yeah.”

“Constantine!”

He stops, giving her the chance to come around and face him, and in the silence that falls, Zed feels the weight behind John’s bluster. There’s a reason he’s still alive despite everyone- and everything- that wishes otherwise. He’s smart enough and vicious enough to take them on and come out alive. Maybe he doesn’t win, but he survives. It comes at a cost, though, and despite how glib he can be, John knows that.

Zed doesn’t see this side of him often, even less when he’s sober.

For a moment, she doubts herself. John knows real demons. It takes more than bluster to make him drop the act.

It isn’t until Zed hears herself speak that she realizes she’s made up her mind. “Forget the explanation for now, okay? Just give me five minutes to get ready. I’ll drive fast enough to make up for it.”

The atmosphere shifts, and John’s expression turns speculative. “You’ll follow my lead or you’ll go away,” he orders, “but if you want to come, the clock’s ticking.”

Zed doesn’t bother asking what he’s talking about. She’s already deciding on the shoes she can pull on fastest.

 

xx

 

Zed waits a whole two minutes into the drive to the airport to ask, “So, who or what is Queenie?”

John takes a long breath in and weighs his options. Lying would be counterproductive. The truth is a minefield, though, and the less Zed sees of it, the better. Still, he has to give her something, if only to keep her from pestering Chas.

“Queenie is Chas’ mum,” he explains slowly. “You want to know the details, you’ll have to ask Chas.” A memory creeps up, of a time before Chas was John’s oldest friend. When he was John’s only friend. Awkward and too tall for himself and inexplicably loyal, shrugging off John’s attempts to understand why that was as if Chas didn’t understand it himself. “That said, you’ll have to know some of it since you’ll be dealing with this.”

Zed’s got a good feel for people, when to push and when to stay quiet, and John can’t find it in him to mind that she’s obviously using that skill on him now, her eyes trained on the dark road more intensely than it deserves.

“When I first met Chas, he was a cabbie in London. He’s always been a good driver, see. Always been good at knowing where everything is and the fastest way to get places.”

John is itching for a cigarette he knows Zed won’t let him smoke. The windows are up, the heat’s on, and that means no smoking in the truck.

Resisting the urge to try his luck, John continues. “Chas and I are opposites, of a sort.”

Zed makes a thoughtful noise, which John ignores.

“My mum died and left me with my father. His father died and left him with Queenie. I’m not sure which of us got the worse deal, to be honest.”

Zed knows about John’s father. He isn’t sure how, but he suspects Manny had a hand in it. Possibly Annie. It doesn’t really matter, despite the prickling down his spine that the thought gives him.

Chas won’t mind too much. He knows Zed, knows her as the person who helps him with the dishes and as someone with her own parent-shaped hell to deal with.

“So you can understand why Chas would be unhappy about Queenie coming around his daughter.”

And why he’d be upset about her being around Chas himself, but that’s a path best left untouched. John has no desire to reenact the one and only time Chas ever raised his voice at Annie.

It’s too dark to be sure, but from the light the street lights cast on her face, Zed seems to have got the message.

“So,” she says slowly. “What’s the plan?”

“We pick up Chas. We bring him home. We don’t mention any of this.”

“John…”

“It’s best to let Chas choose, luv. This hasn’t happened since you joined our merry group. Maybe he’ll want to talk to you.”

John doubts it, but it could happen.

“One last thing,” he adds. “Queenie knows magic. Not like I do, mind you, but enough. So maybe try not to grab him, yeah?”

Zed’s crown is clear, but she nods. “What about Renee and Geraldine?”

“You said Renee told you Queenie was there, right? So she’d come and gone?”

Zed nods.

“Then it’s nothing to worry about.” Sensing Zed’s skepticism, John adds, “She’s got no quarrels with Renee or Geraldine, and if Chas thought otherwise, he wouldn’t have left. You know how he is. Can’t leave a damsel in distress even if it kills him.”

A second memory, this one from years later, tumbles forward, dragging with it the feeling of Chas’ body curled against him, warm and familiar. He’d just come back from seeing his mum for the last time, a revelation he knew wouldn’t be welcomed, and John had felt suddenly grateful they stuck with a grungy room in a cheap motel with a single, tiny bed that let him feel that Chas made it back. Unsteady but back where he belonged.

Zed hums an acknowledgement and lets conversation die.

Part of John wants to stress to her the importance of not cooing over Chas. The rest of him knows better.

So he lies back in his seat and listens to the engine rumble and remembers Chas curling up beside him in that tiny mattress, unsteady and miserable but free.

They’re never free, though. Not really.

 

xx

 

They don’t have to hunt for Chas. He’s already sitting on a bench outside the airport when they arrive. Even slumped over like he is, John recognizes the shape of him immediately.

There’s no one else around, just Chas, the truck, and the lights.

Zed doesn’t bother finding a spot, just pulls over and shuts the engine off.

“Try not to make things worse.”

She says it softly, and John nods.

He opens the door and hops out, not sure what to expect but braced for whatever Chas has waiting.

As he gets closer, Chas lifts his head. “I still know the date I quit.”

John doesn’t put out his cigarette. If that were what Chas wanted, he would’ve said so. “I’ve got another if you want one.”

Chas snorts. “They’re bad for you, John. That’s why I stopped.”

“No,” John corrects him. “You quit because they’d be bad for Geraldine.”

John remembers when Chas quit, too. Not the exact date, but he could guess at the general time. It was more than Chas giving up smoking. It was the start of a shift in Chas, one John wasn’t sure he’d like.

Unaware of John’s line of thought, Chas nods. “She’s my little girl. It’s my job to keep her safe.”

“Which she is. Never seen a happier, healthier little girl. You’ve seen the wrinkles Renee’s getting. Best sign of a healthy kid is exhausted parents, yeah?”

That doesn’t get John the sour look it usually would. Instead, Chas drops his head.

“Geraldine’s old enough for Facebook now, and Renee- and we let her get one. Read all the terms, made sure her account was private.” His voice doesn’t waver as he adds, “She’s got my name, though. My blood.”

John fights a wince. “Mate…”

Chas lets out a long breath. It curls through the air like smoke from John’s cigarette, a stray breeze blowing it past Chas’s clenched fists.

And just like that, John gets it. “You thought you wouldn’t have to tell Geraldine.”

“She shouldn’t have to know,” Chas says, his voice growing sharp. “She shouldn’t have to spend her life wondering if she’ll turn out like that, too.” His jaw is working the way it used to when he was getting ready to find a fight, but the only person he wants to hit is states away.

John debates the wisdom of placating Chas for a moment before shaking his head. “You could try talking to her about it, you know.” At Chas’ grim expression, John sighs. “It doesn’t have to happen now. Just think on it, would you? In the truck, if possible. Gonna freeze my bollocks off if we stay out here any longer.”

To John’s relief, Chas only takes a moment before he nods and gets to his feet.

They walk to the truck together, Chas’ longer legs forcing John to jog as he eats up the space between the bench and the truck.

Chas gets there first, but he motions for John to get in first.

The three of them don’t quite fit in the front, which is mostly Chas’ fault, but neither John nor Zed says anything. Nor do they mention it when Chas nods off less than ten minutes into the drive home.

 

xx

 

They don’t mention Queenie or New York after they get back. Chas wakes up a couple minutes before they got there, and his hands were white-knuckled the rest of the ride.

John’s own hands still ache in sympathy.

There are a lot of drawbacks to being in love with Chas. The fact that it’s one-sided is probably the greatest- or the least, depending on John’s mood. Then there’s his continued to devotion to Renee, even if he’s given up on them getting back together. The constant commuting between John and Geraldine. His fondness for terrible beer.

His soft heart, somehow even more vulnerable than it was when they met.

John has considered showing Queenie what a warlock can do, if only because the magic she knows is so little she ought to be ashamed. But it’s no good. This is a fight Chas is in on his own, and he’d never forgive John for getting involved. Even if John explained it was for his craft.

Chas thanks Zed for the ride and stiffly apologizes for disturbing her sleep before he gets out and heads to the house.

He doesn’t look at John once.

 

xx

 

They split up once they get inside, but Chas’ room is close enough for John to listen in as Chas gets into bed.

Once Chas has stopped moving around, John figures it will only be a matter of time before Zed comes by.

Sure enough, John’s bedroom door opens a few minutes later with little more than a perfunctory knock.

“He’s going to explode,” Zed says before John can remind her that she’s the one always going on about not just throwing doors open. She crosses her arms like she’s angry, but John knows her too well to fall for the bluff.

John takes a long, thoughtfully drag on his cigarette. “Nah,” he says slowly, exhaling a satisfying cloud of smoke. “He’ll need to tinker with his tools for a while, but explode?” He shakes his head. “Nothing so dramatic.”

Zed’s jaw clenches. “You’re incredible.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean that in a nice way?”

“Your friend- your best friend- is in a really bad place right now, and you’re just sitting here, telling me he’ll get over it,” Zed snaps. “You’re the one who told me he’s a powder keg.”

The problem with people like Zed is they get so caught up in other people, they forget to think.

“I also told you know him better than I know myself.” He’s finished his cigarette, so he drops the butt to the floor and grinds out the flame with his heel. Chas will get mad if he sees the mark, but John can probably charm his way back into Chas’ good graces. “He isn’t freaking out, Zed. You saw him when Faust had Geraldine’s soul. _That_ was panic. This is something far more complex.”

John watches Zed chew on her lip as he pulls another cigarette from the pack. “Believe me when I tell you that Chas has rebounded from places far darker than the one he’s in now.”

Forehead wrinkling, Zed asks, “Alone?”

“Would _you_ want witnesses?”

It’s not what she wanted him to say. Her expression makes that abundantly clear.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she says, “I see.”

And with that, she leaves.

 

xx

 

When John gets up the next day, he’s missed breakfast and lunch.

Chas is in the living room, nursing a beer he hasn’t bothered to open and watching Jasper in the mirror.

John sits down on the couch beside him.

It’s easy to forget that Chas is the sensitive one, he thinks as takes in the familiar lines of Chas’ face. John can shrug things off, can take his lumps and get in his digs and be done with it. But not Chas. He hasn’t got a lick of armor on him. He just wanders through life, ignoring everything that hurts until he can’t.

Chas frowns at his bottle. “The taxi needs work.”

It isn’t the only thing that needs work, but John isn’t about to open that can of worms. Unlike Chas, John’s nose won't fix itself.

“It can wait,” John says instead. Before Chas can get prickly over what he’ll no doubt take as coddling, John adds, “You won’t be the one talking to Georgia’s finest if something blows up.”

Chas snorts and shakes his head. “Neither will you.”

John shrugs. “Never said I would be, did I? Zed’s more than capable of fending off a few rural rubberneckers, regardless of their uniform.”

The tension in the room, which had begun to ease, grows taut again. Chas runs a finger over the label on his bottle. “How's Zed?”

John gives that the thought it deserves- none. “She‘s fine, mate.”

“Is she?”

“I didn’t quite lay out your whole life story, but she’s a smart one. She can put two and two together and make four.”

Chas nods and lets the conversation drop, but John knows him better than to think it’s over.

There are times John wishes he could do what Renee couldn’t and will Chas into learning some level of communication. It’s been years of one-sided revelations, John reluctantly watching his life and his secrets bleed out of him, and for most of it, Chas has done what he always does. He’s watched, a silent witness to everything John has done, and he’s helped pick up the pieces.

If it were intentional, John could snap at him. They could fight and be done with it.

But it’s not.

The end of Chas’ marriage didn’t come about from a lack of interest. The sorry sod’s a decent hand at reading other people, but he’s never had much awareness of his own emotions beyond the simplest sorts of likes and dislikes.

Yet the times John wants to make Chas learn to speak are also the times he knows Chas most needs not to.

If there’s a good time to let out thirty years of poison, which John isn’t convinced there is, it’s not when John’s the only one around.

Still, having the shape of Queenie’s fingers around his heart doesn’t mean Chas gets to ignore facts.

“You’ll remember that Zed’s father is the leader of a cult who kept her hostage until she escaped,” John reminds him blandly. “You and me, mate? We got nothing on her.”

Chas’ jaw relaxes, and he nods.

“Now that you’ve seen sense, how about getting me a beer?”

Chas doesn’t get him a beer, but he does stay on the couch. He’s farther away than he was that night in the hotel, but he’s still warm.

When John eventually gets up, he pats Chas’ thigh. He wants to leave his hand there, wants to linger as close to Chas as he’s allowed to get.

Instead, he puts his hands in his pockets. “I reckon the world can handle us taking a little vacation,” he says. “I’ve got months of sleep to catch up on, Zed’s been moaning about wanting time to paint, and we’ll be no good to anyone if the car breaks down.”

One brow quirking up, Chas asks, “I don’t get to rest?”

“You? Never.”

That finally gets him something like a smile, and John lets the satisfaction of a job well done pull him out of Chas’ orbit and into the kitchen.

 

xx

 

The rest of the day passes in a blur of food and crap telly. John doesn’t see another soul until suppertime has long since come and gone.

He isn’t worried about Chas. Ten, twenty years ago, John might have worried. But Chas isn’t a lonely boy anymore, no matter what his mum might say. He’s got responsibilities- a daughter he loves, an ex-wife who’s remembering how easy he can be to love. Friends, like Zed, who rely on him.

But that’s Chas when he’s left on his own. John can’t be sure what Zed’s doing, but he has a feeling she hasn’t been watching Food Network and thinking about pies.

It takes some looking, but John finds them in the end, drawn over to the garage by a clatter.

Chas is working on the passenger side door, and Zed is sitting on the floor by his toolbox, arms around her knees and a wrench in one hand.

“-didn’t know you could sing,” she’s saying, her voice warm. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I’m not selling any records, but it was the best way to get Geraldine to sleep,” Chas replies absently. He holds out a hand, and Zed gamely hands over the wrench.

“Renee didn’t mention that.”

“She probably doesn’t know. She had other priorities at the time.” He lifts his head briefly, and whatever his face does, it makes Zed smile. “Geraldine was fussy, and I didn’t want Renee losing more sleep than she already was. I don’t know why I thought it would work, but she seemed to like it when I sang to her. So I’d bounce her on my shoulder a little, sing a couple songs, and she’d be out like a light.”

Zed makes a soft sound, almost a coo, and John quickly makes his way out of the garage.

 

xx

 

The fact is, Zed is a better match for Chas than John. There’s a bit more of a gap in their ages, but it’s not that big. She gets along with Geraldine as well as Renee, and if Chas wanted to have more children- which John would bet he does- that would be easier with Zed than John.

She’s kind, too. Loving. She invests in people, and Chas would benefit from that.

And he’d be a good right hand for her. He’s always been a cornerstone for John, temper and all. Zed could use someone who understands that that her life matters more, that he has to make sure she gets out alive no matter what.

Stomach rolling as he strips down in his room, John tells himself he should stop eating microwave meals before bed.

 

xx

 

When he wakes up, the sun hasn’t finished climbing above the horizon.

It’s just the right height to hit John square in the eyes when he walks into the kitchen, though.

Arms coming up, John takes a reflexive step back.

There’s a sound from deeper in the room, not quite a snort and not quite a chuckle. John recognizes it, which is why he doesn’t bother responding.

“You want coffee?” Chas asks, still sounding amused. “I can heat up some leftovers if you want. Should be faster.”

John doesn’t point out that Chas is the only one who reliably drinks coffee. Both because he does want some and because leftover coffee means Chas was drinking to stay awake.

“So long as it’s not that flavored shite,” John tells him, trying to blink the world back into focus.

“I think that’s doable.”

Chas pats John on the shoulder as he heads to the fridge. It’s a firm touch, and John’s breath stutters in his throat.

It’s still a jolt, the way Chas comes so close to John. Comes and goes, then comes back and goes away, then comes back again.

Very consistent of the universe to make that spell work. It gave him Chas, even gave him _back_ , just so it can take him away all over again.

He hears the microwave beep, the scrapes and clinks that mean Chas is fixing it how John likes, then the soft steps of Chas’ return.

“Blokes your size shouldn’t be so quiet,” John says as he accepts the mug Chas has extended toward him.

Chas rolls his eyes. “Men of your size shouldn’t complain about men of mine,” he advises mildly as he retakes his seat. His lips are quirked up in one corner, though. “I seem to recall you aren’t very good at fighting when you aren’t using magic.”

“There were three of you, Chas.”

“No, you were just drunk.”

It’s good to see him smile. He doesn’t do it much, never has.

John shakes his head, not contesting the assertion but amazed that of all the people he’s known, it’s the one who yelled at John for puking in his cab who’s stuck around longest.

“You ready to get back out?” he asks. Chas doesn’t want to be asked, and normally John wouldn’t bother. He’d just wait for Chas to start acting stir crazy and go from there. But things are different now. It isn’t just them. This isn’t just another run in.

Chas nods. “The car’s all set.”

“Chas-”

“The car,” Chas repeats, giving John a heavy look, “is all set.”

And that’s the end of it. He takes a long swallow from his mug, and John drinks from his own.

By the time Zed comes in, Chas is frying eggs, and John is helping.

“You should flip that one,” John says from the counter, pointing one out.

“We both know I _just_ cracked that one,” Chas replies, already sounding ready to kick John out. “Morning, Zed.”

“Is John cooking?” she asks.

“Yeah,” John tells her, just as Chas says, “No.”

He’s still got that quirk to his lips, though.

 

xx

 

John finds Chas lying in the brush behind the witch’s house.

“It’s not my driving leg,” he says.

John sighs. “Been a while since I saw your skeleton.”

Chas at least has the decency to look embarrassed about that. “Only a little,” he tries to protest. “An inch, maybe two.”

“An inch or two more than I’m supposed to see if it,” John points out. It really isn’t that bad for a compound fracture; Chas’ body has made terrifying progress in fixing itself.

“I won’t apologize,” Chas tells him. “Someone had to get her away from them, and you know it.”

John deserves to smoke an entire pack in one go for this discussion, but he resists the urge.

“The problem, Chas, is that you’re right.”

“I am?” Chas’ expression remains skeptical. He knows things don’t go this easily.

“You are. We had no good options, and you found the least untenable one.” John exhales hard. “Next time, though, that might not be true. But you were right this time, yeah? So you’ll go ahead with the first vaguely doable plan that comes to mind, no matter what I say. Only the next time ignore me, you might just make it worse.”

“I’ve got plenty of lives left-”

“I’m not talking about you,” John snaps. “You gambled with their lives, Chas! With Zed’s life, as well. And mine. And every other person that witch would have gone on to torment if we hadn't stopped her.”

Finally, understanding registers on Chas’ face.

He doesn’t apologize, but there’s recognition in the lines between his brows.

John knows Chas was caught wrongfooted by the witch being the sweet mum who’d charmed them earlier, but they can’t avoid witches in their line of work. Some of them are bound to be mums.

If Chas can’t keep steady, he’ll have to stay behind.

Rather than risk Chas’ ire, John moves onto the next order of business. “You good to drive, or should Zed?”

“I told you it isn’t my driving leg.”

“Humor me.”

Chas looks down at his leg. “The bone’s back in place, so yeah. I’m good.”

“Great. You may need to play with the engine a bit. I needed some wires for my spell.”

The look Chas gives him is more disappointed than John deserves.

“I just finished putting it back together, John.”

“I only needed one cable,” John says, watching Chas get up without using one leg. He’s gotten quite adept at moving around with various limbs out of use. “Maybe two.”

“You were less of a pain when Mucous Membrane was touring,” Chas grouses.

“Were. I was less of a pain when Mucous Membrane _were_ touring.”

Chas sighs. “It’s never good when you try to distract me with grammar.”

He tries to take a step, but even with his brain blind to the pain- that revelation was a relief, that Chas’ brain will protect itself, if only unconsciously- they can both see his leg can’t take his weight.

John doesn’t bother asking. He walks over to Chas’ weak side and ducks under Chas’ arm, slipping his own around Chas’ waist. Approximately.

Usually Chas is the one helping John, and John isn’t entirely certain where things are.

He helps Chas over to the cab as quickly he can. The police will come around soon, and they won’t be nearly as accommodating as Jim Corrigan.

Zed’s already got the bonnet open when Chas shuffles over enough to get a good look.

John slips into the back, but he’s only just begun to reach for the door when Chas shouts, “John!”

He’ll forget all about earlier as he scrambles for a quick fix. John knows that isn’t a good thing- he needs Chas to remember the bigger picture- but he can’t bring himself to want Chas to live with more than he’s already carrying.

 

xx

 

It’s been a long day. Days. Probably a week by now. Maybe a month.

John lost track of time trying to find and disarm the latest magical object let loose on earth. A fun little trinket that caused the person in possession of it to switch dispositions- John was glad to smash the bloody thing to pieces.

Chas finds him because that’s what Chas does. Zed’s already been and gone, so John is suitably worn out for whatever reluctant conversation Chas has been sitting on.

He really isn’t subtle. It’s usually a relief; John knows where Chas is at because Chas has it written all over his face.

This time, John doesn’t want to see Chas’ fears.

They look too much like John’s own.

Yet Chas settles next to him on the dock. He crosses his legs, which didn’t get so much as a scrape this time, tucking them under himself as he delicately sets himself down.

John did have to endure the sight of Chas spitting out his own teeth, though, which was more than enough.

Down below, the water looks black. It’s a dark night, clouds covering the moon and stars, and the water looks deeper than the sign claims.

When he speaks, Chas’ voice rolls gently over John. “Zed’s on the phone with Corrigan.”

He sounds so tired, and it’s so far from what John was expecting, that it startles a laugh out of him.

“I told you getting a double and a single made more sense,” he points out.

Chas wrinkles his nose. “She’d just take the double, and then we’d have to share the single.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining about that,” John says. “I’m a perfectly well-behaved bedmate. You, on the other hand, are a blanket hog _and_ have sharp knees.”

For a second time, Chas startles him. Rather than arguing, Chas’ expression softens. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

If this were anyone else, John would already be leaning in, knowing he’d get a kiss.

“Been a while since we shared a bed, though,” Chas continues. “Maybe I’ve gotten better.”

The last time was in that grungy hotel after Chas bid Queenie goodbye. John remembers that night well. He barely slept; Chas was so close, so recently returned from a place John wasn’t allowed to see.

John thinks of the people of this town. They’ll never escape what happened here. The things they saw and did. The evil they barely survived.

Blood is like that; you can scrub at it all you like, but you’ll never really get it all out.

The marks on John’s back are proof enough of that.

Chas’ skin is perfectly smooth, but there are plenty of ways to make a man bleed without breaking his skin.

“Do you think Zed will tell us when she’s done?”

John huffs a laugh. “I doubt it.”

“Come on, then. Let’s find something for dinner.”

Dinnertime was four long hours ago, but as John watches Chas get to his feet, he thinks he could find his appetite.

 

xx

 

Chas is sitting on the sofa, smoking. He isn’t in a rush, and he doesn’t try to pretend he isn’t when John comes over.

He just tilts his head back so it’s resting on the back of the sofa, raises his cigarette to his lips, and takes a long drag.

 _May as well,_ John thinks as he pulls his own lighter out.

Chas doesn’t say anything, just moves the ashtray from the arm of the couch to the cushion between them.

It’s something Geraldine made ages ago. One of very few creations Chas was allowed to take when he moved out. John remembers being told that if he ever used it as an ashtray, Chas would break all his fingers.

“Zed still out?” Chas asks.

John nods. “She’s made some friends, and they all want to go see some film that’s playing. So they’re making a day of it.”

Chas makes a sound that John takes as acknowledgement, then falls quiet again.

Watching him smoke, John can’t help but take Chas in.

He looks more tired than he usually does, but softer, too. Like he’s made a decision he’s not sure he likes but one he’ll follow.

Beyond the circles under his eyes and gentle slope his expression, nothing is different.

The lines of his lips fit around his cigarette just like they did back when Chas was a regular smoker. His grasp is the same as it was back then as well; he still holds his cigarette near the filter with his thumb and index finger, the others curled into a fist.

When he taps the ash into the tray, he squints up at the ceiling like he’s solving a puzzle.

The real puzzle is down here. Years have passed, yet John has never really gotten over Chas. He’s been able to ignore the tug in his chest, even managed to forget about it for a while when Chas and Renee were happy. But it always comes back.

“Something happen I should know about?” John asks.

“Nah,” Chas replies. “Just thinking.”

There’s nothing John wants more in this moment than to let this go. He hasn’t had anyone to smoke with in years, and Chas has always been good company.

“You sure about that?”

“I’m sure.”

He’s lying, and badly. But Chas doesn’t do heart to hearts. Not with John. Not with anyone.

Stubbing out his cigarette, John crosses his arms. “You and I both know you’re full of shit.”

Chas shrugs. “And?”

“And I want to know why my best mate is sitting here smoking on his own.”

“I can’t just want to smoke?”

“No.”

That gets him a wry chuckle. “Fine. My little girl is growing up, and I’m worried about her.”

“I’m not an expert, but that’s generally considered the natural way of things.”

“I’m walking about what Renee has no doubt told her. About me.”

“About your mum,” John says.

Chas nods. “That’s her family, John. Me and Queenie.”

“And Renee,” John points out. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m saying she could just as easily take after Renee. Or, and stop me if this is too confusing, she might turn out to be her own person.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s exactly what you’re saying. There are two generations between Geraldine and Queenie. I've known your daughter a long time, mate, and I’m sorry to break this to you, but she’s more of a snitch than a vigilante.”

Rolling his eyes, Chas nevertheless stubs out his own cigarette and tilts his head toward John.

“She looks just like me.”

“A fact I am forever sorry to her for, but it’s got no bearing here. You and Renee are raising her to be a good person. Don’t condemn her before she’s even fully literate.”

The fact is, John can’t guarantee anything. But he knows Chas. He knows that Chas’ many flaws don’t include his mother’s penchant for cruelty. If Geraldine learns that lesson, it won’t be from her father.

And Chas knows it, too, when he isn’t upsetting himself.

“You do know she can read, right?”

John scoffs. “Yes, Chas. I know Geraldine can read.”

“Do you?” Chas presses, leaning in.

They were already closer than usual, and this brings them a lot closer than John is used to being with Chas- without shouting or hiding from shouting being involved.

There’s a retort coiled on the tip of his tongue, but John swallows it. He knows the expression on Chas’ face. He’s seen it a hundred times, aimed at anyone but him.

But there’s no one here but John, and Chas is definitely not looking at anyone else.

The first brush of Chas’ beard against his face is a jolt, and the sound he makes will make Chas laugh later. John doesn’t have to deal with that yet, though. All he has to think about is getting a hand in Chas’s shirt.

And, after a while, getting his hand under Chas’ shirt.

When they eventually stop, Chas has John on his back and is stretched out on top him. He’s heavy and warm, and John is happy about the hand he slipped under the waistband of Chas’ jeans. Every time he’s squeezed Chas’ arse, Chas has moaned and twitched his hips.

Any embarrassment John might have had at getting hard like this from a bit of necking quickly got swallowed up by the way Chas is just as worked up.

“Is this a thing, then?” John asks.

Chas blinks at him, clearly in need of a couple seconds to reorient himself.

Giving him another little squeeze isn’t fair, but it _is_ fun.

When he gets his eyes open again, Chas manages an expression that’s almost dignified. “If by ‘thing’, you mean us, then yeah.”

“Using your daughter to get into my bed, you’re more wily than I thought.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, John, it isn’t.” Pushing up onto his elbows, Chas looks down at him. “I wanted you, and I finally got you with one of your own tricks.”

John narrows his eyes. “The smoking?” Chas smirks at him, and John sighs. “You’d think I’d know better than to trust a handsome bloke smoking on my sofa.”

Chas hums and dips his head to press a scratchy kiss to John’s neck.

“Why now?”

He doesn’t expect Chas to respond, but he does.

Pulling up again, Chas frowns down at him for a long time. So long that John has to fight not to fidget.

“I don’t know.”

Not the answer John was hoping for, but at least it’s honest. Chas would have made up something sentimental if he’d lied. He’d want John to have that much.

“What do you say I help you figure it out?” John asks, reaching for Chas’ zip with his free hand.

Chas laughs, and it’s warm and knowing and all John’s.

“Buy me dinner, and we’ll see what I’m in the mood for after,” he says but doesn’t make any move to get up.

“Hard to do much of anything with you on top of me,” John points out.

“It’s only three o’clock. Dinner doesn’t start till six.”

“Till six, you say?” Chas nods. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to think of something to do in the meantime, won’t we?”

Chas smiles as he noses at John’s cheek. “I can think of a few things.”

John believes him- though he’s got some ideas himself. And judging by the smile he can feel against his jaw, Chas would be interesting in hearing them.

**Author's Note:**

> “Men who walk through the fire never shed the heat, Sergeant. They see in each other the burns that other people don't.”  
> \- Cpt. Homer Jackson, _Ripper Street_


End file.
